


too damn hot

by youaremarvelous



Series: Yuri!!! on Ice Tumblr Drabbles [21]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sickfic, Sunburn, early relationship victuuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 06:02:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14372463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youaremarvelous/pseuds/youaremarvelous
Summary: Viktor’s initial mistake on the dawn of his first hanami is leaving Yutopia early enough to scope out a perfect for him and Yuuri with a big blanket, a cooler of sakura-flavored alcohol and snacks, and no sunscreen in tow.“I should’ve brought sunscreen,” Yuuri frets for the tenth time that night, rubbing aloe into the hard to reach spots on Viktor’s stripped nude body.“It’s not your fault, dove,” Viktor says into his pillow because moving is too painful. He’s turned red before from the light streaming through car windows, gotten burned after five minutes in a tanning bed. He’s well acquainted with his limits as a melanin deprived individual and if it’s anyone’s responsibility to account for his evolutionary deficiency it’s his. He’d tell Yuuri as much if the effort required for doing so didn’t spin the room like an off-kilter carousel and flip his stomach into his throat.





	too damn hot

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt, "sick Victor doing his best to coach Yuuri but it's obvious he is unwell and should be resting?"

Viktor’s initial mistake on the dawn of his first hanami is leaving Yutopia early enough to scope out a perfect for him and Yuuri with a big blanket, a cooler of sakura-flavored alcohol and snacks, and no sunscreen in tow. His second mistake is getting drunk off the dual influences of Asahi Sakura beer and locals asking for pictures, not because he’s Viktor Nikiforov, five-time consecutive gold medalist, but because he’s that eccentric foreigner dating the Katsuki boy. **  
**

 

By the time the sun is setting and Viktor’s day-long bender is wearing off— leaving a dull headache and loose-limbed contentment in its wake—his skin is stinging and dry but not unbearably so. He doesn’t even really notice it until he playfully hip checks Yuuri on their walk back to Yutopia and Yuuri retaliates by pinching the sensitive spot on Viktor’s nape.

 

Viktor throws his head back with a pained hiss and Yuuri snaps his hand to his chest, cradling it there as if he'd accidentally thrust it into burning stove coils. “You okay?” He asks, concern creasing his forehead.

 

‘Fine—” Viktor waves off his worry with an easy smile—“you just surprised me.”

 

It isn’t until they’re bathed in the artificial light of the inn that they realize Viktor is about as fine as a boiled lobster. Every inch of exposed skin is searing red, so bright it appears to be glowing against the porcelain white of his normal, healthy complexion.  

 

“I should’ve brought sunscreen,” Yuuri frets for the tenth time that night, rubbing aloe into the hard to reach spots on Viktor’s stripped nude body.

 

“It’s not your fault, dove,” Viktor says into his pillow because moving is too painful. He’s turned red before from the light streaming through car windows, gotten burned after five minutes in a tanning bed. He’s well acquainted with his limits as a melanin deprived individual and if it’s anyone’s responsibility to account for his evolutionary deficiency it’s his. He’d tell Yuuri as much if the effort required for doing so didn’t spin the room like an off-kilter carousel and flip his stomach into his throat.

 

The pain is worse the next morning. Viktor groans when his alarm sounds after a fitful night of trying to get comfortable without setting fire to his limbs by, well, moving them. He peels himself from his aloe-dampened sheets and has to pause on the side of the bed with his head bowed over his knees when the movement makes his pulse knock angrily against his temples.

 

He should probably call the day a wash and spend his Monday prone in bed, soothing his sun-roasted body with icy washcloths, an artillery of fans, and Yuuri’s fingers, combing comfortingly across his scorched scalp. He should, but he has his duty as a coach to attend, so he invokes Yuuri’s stubborn influence and pushes himself up from the bed and toward the closet.

 

Viktor doesn’t remember dressing ever being so painful, and he’s been known to suffer for fashion in the way of waist cinching tops and six-inch heels. The fine fabrics comprising his wardrobe—normally soft and comfortable against his sensitive skin—feel like sandpaper ripping up his stinging flesh to a bloody pulp. The mental image makes his stomach roil so he pushes it out of his head with choreography reviews and staggers to the kitchen on stiff limbs to keep his clothes from shifting against him.

 

Yuuri is already there when he reaches it, his arms piled high with ice packs and water bottles. “What are you doing up?”

 

“I was going to ask you the same.” Viktor puts a hand on the table, uses it as leverage to lower himself slowly into a chair like an old man with a bad back. “Turning over a new leaf as an early bird?”

 

“No, I mean—you should be in bed.”

 

Viktor leans an elbow against the table to keep his burning back from grazing the chair. “Is that a proposition?”

 

“Vitya,” Yuuri says pointedly, depositing his armful of sunburn treatments on the counter.

 

“I’m okay.” Viktor straightens up to prove it. He barely manages not to cringe when the movement scalds his shoulders with fire and makes his gut bubble and surge like the ocean during high tide. “Sore but okay.”

 

Yuuri opens his mouth to argue but Viktor cuts him off. “I won’t even get on the ice. I’ll just watch you from the bleachers.”

 

Yuuri cocks his weight into one hip, chews his lip uncertainly.

 

“Let me stay by your side, right?” Viktor says, which is an unfair final blow but a successful one. Yuuri gives in begrudgingly, though insists on having Mari drop them off at the rink in lieu of their usual jog and shielding Viktor with his Mom’s parasol on the short walk from the inn to the car.

 

Everything is fine at first. Yuuri manages the best run-through to date of his new FS and Viktor sits rinkside with uncharacteristic slumped posture, basking in the residual chill of the ice while the triplets entertain themselves with pressing words and drawings into his inflamed skin with their fingers.

 

It isn’t until he stands to correct Yuuri’s form that the reality of his singed, dehydrated state sinks in again, blacking out his vision at the edges so he’s forced to sink back on the bench or else risk face planting into the boards. Sitting doesn’t help like he wants it to. His head spins in time with his stomach and he feels more than hears the rattle of the triplets moving out of the splash zone in case his breakfast decides to make a reappearance.

 

Viktor waves a hand over his head to indicate he’s fine—more to alleviate their fear than anything—but his skin is pulsing with molten heat and he’s starting to think lying on the ice might not be a bad idea. It’s like a full body ice pack—a lake-sized cooling balm for his pounding head and throbbing limbs. Maybe that’s why Yuuri falls out of his jumps with surprising regularity considering his skill, he thinks, to keep this frozen spring of eternal youth and sunburn healing to himself.

 

He doesn’t register fully losing consciousness, but it must happen because one moment he’s sitting on the bleachers with his head hovering precariously low between his knees and the next he is sprawled out on the floor, something cold pressed against both sides of his neck and under his armpits and Yuuri’s frightened, handsomely tanned face hovering over him, fanning him with a tissue box. It’s been a while since Viktor’s contemplated his demise, but on the list of ways to go, swooning into the arms of a beautiful man like one of those delicate ladies on the covers of his favorite romance novels is very near the top.

 

“Is this heaven?” Viktor asks. He means for it to rinse away the look of frenetic worry lining Yuuri’s features, but the words come out rounded at the edges—stuck on his dry lips— and have the opposite effect.

 

“Mari’s on her way to take us to the hospital,” Yuuri informs him, tracing Viktor’s jawline with his cold fingers, gently thumbing stray hair behind Viktor’s ear. “Do you think you can drink some water?”

 

Viktor nods. He has a mind to make a comment about how he’s already enjoying the tall drink of water in front of him, but when Yuuri helps hoist him up into a seated position his stomach jumps to his throat and all that comes out is a dry heave.

 

Yuuri rubs Viktor’s thigh—one of the few spots that aren’t glowing crimson—and doesn’t say, “I told you so,” which is nice because Viktor thinks he might’ve by now. The sentiment does manage to creep its way into his hands—clasped together in his lap—when Viktor is safely set up at the hospital with an iv and prescription strength burn cream and is starting to feel more like a human than a molten magma monster.

 

Yuuri doesn’t scold Viktor, even when he’s released from the hospital that evening with strict instructions to stay hydrated and rest and Yuuri spends the night in Viktor’s bed with him, as close as he can get without hurting him, carefully massaging cooling balm into his burns whenever the pain and the heat stir him from sleep.

 

He does load Viktor down with no less than ten bottles of sunscreen by the time the next spring rolls around, setting hourly timers so he won’t forget to re-apply no matter how distracted they get by sakura wine and the sight of one another in their robin’s egg blue coordinating couple’s outfits.

 

“I guess this is what I get—” Viktor tilts his head back to smile at Yuuri who is busy rubbing cold sunscreen on the back of his husband’s lily-white neck—“for falling in love with a man who’s too damn hot.”

**Author's Note:**

> Rebloggable [here](http://youremarvelous.tumblr.com/post/173002522428/hello-yes-i-am-always-down-for-sickfics-if-you)


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